Stallion
by Suma Akila
Summary: I don't like things bigger than me. Animals bigger than me. Double goes for annoyingly handsome, infuriating, and downright sinful cowboys with blue hair. GrimmxIchi. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Bleach or its characters. **

**Warning: Alternate universe, somewhat spoiled seeming Ichigo in the first few chapters, and a very sexy, very intimidating Grimmjow. **

**Stallion**

**Chapter One**

You know how there are those movies and stories where someone is suddenly thrown into a totally different life because some rich far out uncle that they have never known or heard of has left all of their fortune to their last living relative? I never believed that shit. Made me angry, in fact. Stuff like that just doesn't happen in real life, you know? It's all someone's strange fantasy that they will be given a fortune without ever having to raise a pinky finger in order to gain it. It's absolutely absurd.

Too bad my aversion to such stories has landed me where I am now.

I don't know how long I have been driving. A few days, at least. I'm slightly pissed off that I'm putting all these miles on my brand new car, a Chevy Camaro that I have worked my ass off in order to afford, but apparently it's part of the will that I actually go live at the stupid place before I can sell it off.

Lost yet? Alright, let's go back a little bit.

So I'm sitting in my apartment right? Rukia, my girlfriend, is there with me and we are just having a ball. If there is anything I love more than getting my hands on her, I have yet to find it. Anyway, so we are there pretending to watch a movie and really only exploring each other with our tongues when my phone rings and jerks me out of the haze of passion that I had begun to fall into.

Not a happy camper. I pick up the phone and in the gruffest, most annoyed voice I can I answer with a "What?" that makes whoever it is on the other side pause before actually answering me.

"Kurosaki Ichigo?"

I scowl and sit up from the cuddled embrace of Rukia, wanting to rip the head right off of the person who is calling. I didn't recognize the number but it's a bad habit of mine to just answer the phone whenever it rings. I really needed to stop that.

"I'm not interested in whatever you're selling." My words are scathing. I can't believe that I had to drag my hand away from Rukia's small, perfect breasts so that some stupid telemarketer can try to swindle me of money. I'm just about to hang up because Rukia is giving me those dark, need you eyes, when the voice on the other side of the line speaks up again.

"My apologies, Kurosaki, but I am not a Telemarketer. My name is Urahara Kisuke and I am calling on behalf of your recently deceased uncle, Kurosaki Kaein."

That struck a nerve. I sat up so fast that Rukia, who had been comfortably straddling my legs, rolled off and on to the floor with an indignant sound that I didn't even register. I got up to my feet, my expression murderous.

"I don't have an uncle. You have the wrong Kurosaki."

I wanted to hang up then and there, but the calm voice on the other side of the phone merely continued with a tone that hinted at amused control, making my vision prick with darkness.

"Ah, no. Kurosaki Ichigo, the only living relative of Kurosaki Kaein after the untimely death of his brother, Isshin, and Isshin's wife, Masaki and her two daughters, Karin and Yuzu. Currently located at Seretei Corp. in Karakura town, age twenty two. Am I correct?"

With every word my anger had grown more and more until his question was asked and the hot coil that had been building snapped, my tongue reacting before I could reign in my temper.

"I don't want anything to do with an Uncle that has not bothered to contact me since his own brother died. Give it to someone else."

Rukia was standing up by now, tugging on her shirt and looking at me with this expression that I'm not so sure I liked. I clenched my free hand into a fist and turned my back to her, scowling at the wall with everything that I had as he continued.

"Mah, well, you see Kurosaki-san... It's in the will. You must come and live at the estate that has been given to you for at least two months before you can decide to sell it off or give it away. I think it would be of interest for you to actually see the place."

Silence. I wasn't sure whether I should cuss this Urahara guy out or throw my phone against the wall but I wasn't allowed to do either because his voice comes filtering through the phone once more, gently.

"If you come to my office tomorrow morning around, say, ten... we can discuss this matter more. I am actually quite near you. Your Uncle and Father wanted someone near you in case something like this happened."

And that's how it all started.

….

My GPS lets me know when I am about twenty minutes out from this new place of mine. It also beeps and draws my attention to the fact that, hello, the closest gas station to my place is this one right here. I mean, really? A twenty minute drive to the freaking gas station?

Whatever. I'm already in a bad mood and I know… I just know that the fifth of liquor tucked away in the trunk just isn't gonna last me past tonight. So with that thought in mind I pull into the station, cap of my car, and walk into the little building with the intention of buying as many cases of beer as I can carry out myself.

The bell jingles, but it's not one of those little bells that you normally hear. I look behind my shoulder and up and sure enough there's a _cowbell _clattering against the now closed door. I feel my eyebrow rise. I knew as soon as the houses and cities started fading around me that I was heading into the middle of nowhere, but really?

Shaking my head I turn towards the right side of the gas station where I had spotted where the drinks are, and take two steps in that direction when an extremely girly, extremely cheerful voice interrupts me and makes me glance towards the counter where an ancient looking register sits precariously in front of a brightly smiling woman.

The first thing I immediately realize is that she has large breasts. Mountainous affairs that cause the buttons of her shirt to strain over them as if they want to pop open and set those puppies free. I mean, really. Then I notice that the buttons are attached to a white, long sleeved shirt that has a strange design running up each sleeve to its collar and that leads to a neck that currently has a burgundy bandana tied around it…

Then up to a round face that holds a small blush and a wide, wide grin. Waist long light brown hair is braided into low pigtails, (pigtails!), and sparkling eyes fringed with lashes are honed in on me with this expression of utter expectation; of what, I have no clue.

And then I realize that she had said hello, and asked me how I am doing.

I blink real nice and slow like, not because I don't know the answer but because where I'm from, in my city back home, people don't really talk to each other in the gas stations unless it's absolutely necessary. After a few seconds I remember that I was raised with some manners, and I give her a small smile.

"I'm fine, thank you." And then beer, precious beer, is tucked into my arms and I carry it back to the front of the store and deposit the three twenty four packs with a small sigh.

When I look up, she's staring at me curiously. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that she is wondering who I am and where I'm from, her eyes sliding down over what I'm wearing.

I don't belong here. My light khaki pants, short sleeved collared button up shirt coupled with a white blazer that houses four blue stripes (two from each shoulder and angling down towards my hips) absolutely scream that I'm an outsider. Add my brightly colored orange hair and hazelnut eyes with thin framed black slender glasses resting on the bridge of my nose… well. I'm not an idiot. I can see the wheels in her head turning.

She doesn't ring anything up, doesn't do any calculating other than typing out a few numbers on that ancient cash register that looks more like a type writer, and then her voice is lilting out again happily. "Twenty eight thirty four is your total! Hey, where are you from anyways?"

She's got this bit of a…I dunno. A twang? It's barely there, but I hear it at the pronunciation of every word, especially on the word 'your.' I let it slide, because I probably have an accent to her too, judging by the way she is staring at me. I pull my wallet out of my back pocket, thumb two twenties out of it, and offer them to her with another calm, polite smile.

"Out East."

She seems to accept this explanation and doesn't pry any further as she fiddles around with the money for a second, offering my change after recounting it twice to make sure she has it right. "Alright, here you go Mr…."

She trails off as if just realizing that she doesn't know my name and I really debate on if I should give it to her or not. I decide perhaps I really should because if I am going to have to stay in the area for the next two months then I don't need to make the locals mad by being rude.

"Ah, call me Ichigo."

She smiles again, bouncing up and down which in turn drags my attention to her breasts again because _they _are bouncing up and down, and I have to blink hard to look away. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ichigo! I'm Orihime! Hey, are you here to visit family or something? If you need anything while you're here, you just let me know, ok?"

She's chattering away even as I pull two cases underneath my arms, holding one in my left hand so that I still can somewhat use my right.

"Thank you. Good bye."

I'm out the door before she can say anything else, that damn cowbell rattling behind me, and soon I am on the road again for the last little leg of my journey.

…

The lawyer I had spoken to, Urahara, had kept referring to the place I inherited as an 'estate,' but I really truly hadn't been expecting _this. _

The place is _huge. _

I'm not even exaggerating. Five of the twenty minutes that it took me to get here was made up, apparently, of the 'driveway.' Thick woods flanked either side of the twisting dirt road, and I had cringed with every little bump in the road, or every little pebble I heard kick up against the tires. Not to mention, some tree branches found it necessary to grow out into the path and give loving little brushes against my car's paint job.

But when I rounded the last bend in the trees and they suddenly fell away, I had slammed on the breaks so fast and so hard that my car had slid a little bit even though I wasn't going very fast at all. I had immediately thrown my car in park, opened the door, and stepped out to gape.

Which is what I'm still doing now.

The house is long. Extremely long. It's brick, I can tell that from here, with a section off to the left hand side that is made up completely of windows. The middle section of the house is where the door is; I can tell that because there is a little white path leading from a wide circular driveway in front of the house, and then off to the right is a connected, three car garage, with what looks like an upper floor. The roof is colored a dull green to compliment the brown of the brick, and the entire front yard is mowed to perfection and practically the greenest grass I've ever seen.

But no. No, the house is impressive, but when I say that what lies before me is huge, I really mean it's _massive. _

Because there, beside the house and a little behind it, is the strangest looking building that I have ever seen in my entire life. Its two stories tall, the bottom half looking as if it's constructed by stone, and the top half is made up of cherry colored wood. The roof is steepled and black, and the whole structure is made into a wide, semi-circle that opens up at each end and in the very middle by double doors that look like they slide open. There's a beat up looking blue pickup truck parked off to the side, though I don't see anyone around, and I don't exactly know what I'm looking at…

Until a loud sound catches my attention and my head snaps to the left of the strange looking building and oh, oh d_ear god no, _I realize exactly what it is that I'm looking at.

This _has _to be a mistake. It's absolutely, positively the wrong address, no matter what my On Star system says in my car, because there is absolutely no way, _No Way, _that this place… this… this….

This _horse farm, _is now his!

….

**Somewhat short, I dunno if I like how I started it, per say, but it's another one of those little ideas that won't let me focus on my other stories until I get it down so, here ya go. **

**The first installation of my new story, Stallion. **


	2. Chapter 2

**I think technology hates me. Had to send it off because the hard drive up and decided that it didn't want to live anymore. Sigh. Anyways, lost everything off of my other one, for every story, so here I am rewriting. Lol that's always the hardest thing, to me. Anyways, know this has been a long time coming, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. **

**Stallion**

I called Urahara straight after my arrival and he had assured me that, why yes, the Estate _is _a horse farm and, _Oh!, so sorry,_ he had thought he mentioned it!

Sarcastic little asshole. I let it slide.

Which is why I now stand in the entranceway of that magnificent house, staring at my surroundings in complete awe.

This estranged uncle of mine had had incredibly good taste.

Good, modern taste.

The large living room consists of rich, black modern shaped furniture, including a long low placed blocky couch and two chairs of the same leathered style. A low rectangular shaped coffee table with a glossed top and a black frame sits between the seating and a rather large Ikea digital entertainment center that houses movies, games, and what I assume is close to a sixty inch T.V, but who knows.

The walls are painted a beige sort of brown with darker, almost red brown trim, and bamboo patterned wooden flooring that covers what seems to be the entirety of the bottom floor of the house. The living room is left open to the dining room, a low table decorated by colorful placements, seating consisting of plush round pillows; six in all.

Intrigued, and a bit dumbstruck, I move further into the house and leave the front door wide open in my surprise I find myself in a rather large kitchen, staring at blaring white set off by a black refrigerator and cabinets, though everything from the waist height up reminds me of a sterile, pristine operating room Even the floor has warped from bamboo wood to smooth white tile, countertops an ivory marble.

I feel somewhat dizzy.

I've only touched three rooms in the large house and already the grandeur and immaculate cleanliness of the place is giving me a headache and settling my mind somewhere in the realm of awe. Rolling my eyes up to the ceiling and taking a deep breath to steady myself, I walk back towards the front door where I had set down the cases of beer. I need on already, after seeing this much and finding myself in possession of what can only be a small fortu-

_Dear Gods, what is _that?

My mind does a stutter stop as my feet stop moving and root me to a spot on that rich wooden floor, wide eyes turned on the open doorway and what now resides within it.

The first thought I have, ridiculously enough, is that someone has placed a large statue right in my doorway as a joke, but then said statue moves in another step and I find myself taking an involuntary step backwards.

Wild blue hair is somewhat plastered to a tanned and hardened face that is set in a confused scowl, long muscle corded arms flexing and streaked in sweat and dirt. He brings with him an odd, musky smell of dirt, manure, and something else I can't quite place. Lumbering form is wrapped in a dingy white t-shirt and stained, well-worn and torn jeans, cowboy boots nearly stripped of their original brown color.

A straw, dirty white cowboy hat dangles from his left hand.

"The fuck're you?"

His accent is thick, more drawl than actual accent, his country heritage making itself painfully obvious in its thickness.

Then the actual words register in my mind and I immediately bristle up in indignation, my eyes flashing as my face heats up.

"I think I'm the one that should be asking that question. I don't believe I gave you permission to enter."

He tenses up immediately, lips curling back in a silent sneer as he takes another step into the house, fingers tightening on that cowboy hat. His stormy blue eyes rage at me darkly.

"Dunno who ya think ya are, ya little shit, but 'round here I look after things, an' if you aint got no business here, I suggest you leave all quick like. I dunno what you've heard, but far's I know, this place aint up fer sale, even if the old man's passed away. So best run-along now, if ya know what's good fer ya."

I stand there a second just staring at the massive male with my lips parted incredulously. I've _never _had anyone talk to me like this. Well, not since high school anyways, before I beat some sense into them.

"E-excuse me?" I finally manage to sputter, blinking rapidly and feeling as if someone has just stolen my favorite piece of candy away from me.

If possible his scowl deepens and he straightens his shoulders and _dear lord, _he's got to easily be six foot five! It's ridiculous! I blink as a rather animalistic snarl rips out between us, the cowboy hat falling to land beside my almost forgotten cases of beer. My eyes follow its descent before snapping back up to meet this dangerous strangers' face.

"I'll give ya 'til the count o' five to get the hell outta my sight 'fore I really lose my temper, ya little punk."

My brain isn't working right and I don't really know why. By now I would normally have hundreds of come backs on the tip of my tongue, but for some reason my brain is failing me and so the only thing my intelligence is able to come up with comes out in a stutter colored in mild confusion.

"I just drove for days to get here!"

"One…"

"I don't want to be here anymore than you want me here,"

"Two…"

"..but I have to stay for two months before I can get rid of it!"

"Thr- wha'd ya just say?"

I am about to keep rambling but the question stops me and I furrow my brows, speaking slower than before

"That I just drove for-"

"Not that, whad'ya mean, ya gotta stay here fer two months?"

I pause again and shift on my feet. Really, I'd just like to go to sleep and wake up and all of this be some weird dream. "Kaein left this place to my father. Since he's dead, it's coming to me."

The blue haired man stares at me rather intently, eyes leaving mine to study my face… for what, I have no clue. Then something close to horrified astonishment crosses his face and his jaw drops rather comically; if it hadn't been for him threatening my life two seconds ago, I'd be laughing.

"Ya look almost jus' like him," he breaths out and I bristle again in my anger, "How'd I miss that?"

There is a strange note to his voice that I don't like and suddenly it's as if that little evil side of me is awake and ready once more.

"I look nothing like my fathers' brother. I'd thank you not to ever say that again. Now, is there some other reason you're tracking dirt into _my _house, or do you get off by threatening other people?"

For a moment I actually think he might come at me with his fists flying, what with those impossibly stormy blue eyes raging at me from behind a hooded, half lowered gaze that sends an ugly little trill of fear spiking through my body. I haven't felt anything like that in _years. _

I don't like it. I don't like it at all.

But then, just like that, he's bending over to pick up that grungy white cowboy hat and situates it firmly on top of his head, his right thumb hooking into the front pockets of his work dirtied jeans while his left pointer finger and thumb tug down gently at the front of the brim, chin canting in my direction.

"I'll be leavin' ya to it, then. Holler if ya need any help. M'sure one o' the boys wouldn' mind comin' to help ya move anythin' around."

And with that he turns on his heel, leaving a nice little smear of dirt on the previously clean wooden floor, but I barely notice that in favor of watching him duck out of the door way and begin to s_wagger, _(because, really, what else can he call a gait like _that?_), to that beat up little blue pickup truck I had seen earlier when I first arrived, before driving back off towards the barn.

I really need that beer now.

….

**I know it's incredibly short, and I apologize for that, but I hope everyone enjoyed it all the same. Sorry for grammer/spelling issues. No Beta for this one, yet, unless someone is interested! Lol. Toodles. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews! It really made me want to write more! I hope you all enjoy this chapter as well, though things between Grimmjow and Ichigo will be slow to start off with, obviously. **

**Stallion**

I am not happy.

Currently hunched over at the dining room table, one elbow planted on the table top to support the hand cradling my head, I try to think of any reason as to w_hy _I shouldn't stalk outside and kill everyone I see.

It had started, unfortunately, at exactly five thirty in the morning. Trying to sleep off the previous night's consumption of beer to avoid a major hangover, I had been _extremely _displeased when the most obnoxious noise in the world had wrenched my peaceful haze of dreams away from me with way too much ease.

_Fucking roosters._

Then, when I had thought that they maybe might have stopped, _they kept going. _Who in the _hell _would keep roosters if they kept waking you up at _five thirty _in the morning?

And then, tossing and turning until about six fifteen, I had been jolted awake even further when the loud rumbling of _something _cranked up outside to join the roosters. When I had growled in frustration and stalked to the window of the bedroom I had somehow found and passed out in I found that, contrary to popular belief, people were actually _alive _that early in the morning.

And oh no, not only were they alive, but they were _working. _With a _loud ass tractor _and yelling back and forth over the noise to hear each other as they proceeded to _mow _the pastures. The pastures! As if those stinking hulking beasts called horses wouldn't e_at _it down!

And, oh, had I gotten a nasty surprise when I stumbled around the mostly dark room to find the light switch.

My uncle might have good, modern taste for the front half of the house, but I should have expected something like what I was confronted with. Really, I should have known. Unfortunately, cowed by riches and the overall _size _of the house, I had been a bit preoccupied.

But, unlucky for me, I came face to face with the yawning mouth of a stuffed _moose. _A moose! Beady glass eyes stared at me as I had stumbled backwards away from the monstrosity mounted on the wall and, losing my footing, I ended up on my ass to stare around the room in horror.

No, Kaein couldn't have just been some simple country living man who made his living doing gods knows what out in the middle of nowhere. Of course he just couldn't be some strange uncle that I had never heard of and had no attachment to except for a house and land that I have no use for.

No, he had to be one of _those _country people.

Dark brown walls were littered with different sized deer heads and antlers protruding in random fashion, as well as the occasional antelope and of course, the moose.

But no. All of that I could have possible ignored like I do everything else. I could even ignore the little leather chair that sat off in a corner with what looked to be a rabbit furred pillow sitting in it. I could even ignore the fact that the bed I had been so comfortably sleeping on had what looked like a furry pelt at the foot of it, folded up nice and neat.

All of this I could have ignored.

I couldn't, however, ignore the very real, very stuffed _bear _rearing up in the corner opposite of the bed, black fur dull due to the fact that it's _dead, _with a gaping jaw opened in a silent roar of fury, front arms extended and curled around a large barrel that has been marked, sloppily, with the slanting word _cookies _across its front.

_Really? REALLY?_

So, with that little series of wake up calls, one could venture to say that I am so very, _very _unhappy.

Who in the hell keeps a stuffed bear in their bedroom anyways?

Taking a slow sip of my black coffee and rubbing my left eye in a half-hearted attempt to stave off the oncoming migraine, I dart my eyes to that those too white walls until I find a nice little digital clock hanging up on the wall, blocky green letters mocking me as they blink a steady _09:18._

Figuring that the only thing to do in such a situation is to fix my perception of things, I screech the chair backwards to stand up and sulk towards the fridge where, thank the Gods, my untouched uncased beers now covered the top shelf and littered the compartments in the door. Snapping one open and taking a long refreshing sip I let my shoulders relax as my eyes close. The perfect cure for a hangover and the only way to ease the nerves threatening to tweak and snap is morning beer. I consider opening the bottle of whiskey in my freezer but shrug it off. I will need that some other time; for a harder night later on in the week.

In all of my years, I have never been so utterly bored. And it has only been one day. Not even a full day. Exhaling through my nose and taking another deep draw of my beer I turn to move back to the table but end up choking on the alcohol as I inhale sharply in surprise.

Outside of my kitchen window is a breathtaking view of the green land that stretches between the house and the horse pastures, slightly hilly and unmarred by any man made obstacles save the wooden fences and the large imposing barn. And this morning, on top of that, the freshly risen sun sends rays of light down on dewy grass, powerful bodied animals… and a shirtless man.

Spluttering and wiping the back of my forearm across my lips and chin in attempt to somewhat dry my face, I feel my face heating up in embarrassment. I don't need to be closer to the man to see who it is; wild and bright blue hair stands out like a beacon against the more earthy tones of the man's surroundings.

_Where in the hell am I? _I think to myself as I force the urge to kick something into the back of my mind. I have been questioning myself over and over and over again since I had been so rudely awoken this morning, but it keeps repeating in my mind, over and over again, like a freaking broken record. _Where am I? Who does this? Why am I here? Why me?_

It seems to me as if the time spent here, in this back water town where I had to drive for an hour in any direction to see any sort of civilization, would be the death of me.

How I hate this place already.

**Hope you enjoyed this short chapter, there will be another one posted today, and hopefully it will be longer. We shall see. Cheerio!**


	4. Chapter 4

**So, I didn''t quite get this out yesterday like I promised but, eh, whose really counting? Lol. I hope you all enjoy, and thank you to all of my signed AND anonymous reviewers! Every little word really does help towards encouraging fellow fanfiction writers! I look forward to hearing more from all of you! So, without further ado:**

**Stallion**

**Four**

I've always kind of been a health nut.

Rukia teases me and says that it's because I grew up with a father that was a doctor, but I tend to ignore that. I haven't ever told her that my old man was more of a child than I was before he died, and I don't ever really intend on sharing that little piece of information either. It's really no ones business, and I don't make a habit out of trying to make my life into one big sob story. I'll leave that to people who have attention issues.

Once the little angry blue man holding a Bud Light sign in my skull stopped pounding against my brain I decided that the best way to reign in my increasing agitation would be to go for a run, and so now here I am.

It's not quite as satisfying to hear the crunch of gravel as my feet methodically hit the ground with each calculated step instead of the slap-slap of sneakers against pavement, but the way my blood thrums through my body and how my heart thuds evenly against my chest with each inhale and exhale I take… well, that's enough.

My IPOD is blaring some strange unknown techno trance music through my ears that Rukia has somehow managed to sneak onto it, for the thousandth time, but instead of getting irritated like I normally would with her antics, I welcome the darkly seductive tune that urges my legs to keep pumping.

The air here is a bit thinner than I am used to since the elevation is a bit higher than back home, but it doesn't bother me. When I had been in High School I had been on both the Soccer Team and the Track Team, and between the both of them and how many places they travelled away for games, I got used to adapting to this sort of thing.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath of fresh air… and immediately start cussing at myself in my head. _Fresh _air, indeed. Wrinkling up my nose and slowing to a long gaited walk I raise up my hand to rub at the tip of my nose as my eyes squint open in a glare.

Even this far down the graveled dirt driveway, with trees flanking either side of me, I can _still _smell those God-awful stinking beasts. At least their crap doesn't smell like dog shit. It's a different kind of smell that I can't quite place, but it's not pleasant in any way.

I decide maybe this running thing is over for the day and turn around just as my ears register a steady crunch-crunch-clop drawing closer to me from the direction I had been running. I turn half back to stare over my shoulder at the bend in the driveway just in time to see a very large, very intimidating, VERY FAST moving horse come barreling around the corner and I barely hold in my heart as it tries to jump out of my throat in the form of a startled cry as I skitter to the side of the road, grasping at the jutting branch of a tree as the animal slides to a stop, throwing rocks and a small cloud of dirt in my direction.

I stand gaping up at the prancing animal as my confusion and (though I won't admit this out loud to anyone, ever) fear threaten to send me skittering further into the trees, but then a gruff voice rips my attention away from the wide excited eyes and teeth bearing grin of the horse and up to the rider who sits astride him.

"What the hell you doin' standin' in the middle of the road?"

My fear starts to melt slowly away in the face of even more confusion and I can feel my eyebrows tugging forward towards the bridge of my nose as I grip the tree limb harder. "The…road…?" I mumble half consciously, staring up at the blazing blue eyes of the man that has seen fit to make my life as hard as possible the last day and a half.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat and I vaguely register him switching the reins… I think that's what their called… from his left hand to his right as he reaches up to tug that damnable dingy white cowboy hat from his head, naked forearm sliding across his forehead to wipe away beads of sweat.

Naked…. Forearm….

_Holy Shit, do these people have no sense of decency? _

The man _still _has no shirt on! I look down in almost detached fascination and see that yes, he _is _wearing pants, but his biting tone makes my confusion, and most of my otherwise good mood, evaporate.

"Yeah, _the road. _I coulda ran ya over if ya hadn't moved!" And plop goes the hat back on top of his head, shielding most of the wild blue hair from my view.

I feel something growing up inside of me… some dark, ugly thing that starts slowly clawing at the inside of my chest, and then it bursts forth out of me as I take a step towards the still dancing animal, my eyes locked up and scowling at the other man.

"Ran me _over? _On the _road?_" My voice is rising and half hysterical by now. I register this fact very mildly, as if I am standing at a far distance from what looks to be like a bad train wreck. "_Look around you! _This isn't a _road! _Hell, it's barely even enough to be considered a _drive way! _And for that matter, _why _are you letting that _animal _run _down it_ if you do consider it a road! Roads are for _cars. _You know, the shiny modern things with _wheels? _You _do _know what a car is, right?"

By the end of my small little break down my voice has risen to a shout and I am standing almost arms length away from the smelly, sweaty horse with my fists clenched to my sides and my face heated up in angry frustration. What is _wrong _with these people? But, I'm not quite done yet.

"And _five thirty in the morning! _What the _hell _are roosters crowing for at _five thirty in the morning? _And YOU! Oh, YOU!" I raise a shaky hand and point a finger up at his surprised face as I continue on, "What the _hell _was going on this morning before the sun even came up? Machines right outside my window? _Mowing _the grass? The grass!" I turn on my heel and start stomping back towards the house, still heatedly speaking because I know he can hear it. "_And put some fucking clothes on!"_

I'm greeted with a heavy silence as I continue on, no sound of hooves against gravel following my departure.

**Again, short, I know. The chapters will start to pick up length and speed now that I have his temper tantrum out of the way, and sorry he is so spoiled in this chapter, but he will change! :D And, for next chapter… Who is apologizing to who, and what comes of it? Yay. **


	5. Chapter 5

Thank god for small favors.

Sitting on the couch with my head leaned back and my eyes closed I let the loud thrum of music from the expensive radio system in the living room sooth my agitation. When I had gotten back to the house I nearly ripped off my clothes in aggravation before turning on the water as hot as I could for a shower. My skin is still a bit pink and my shower had been roughly two hours ago.

I stretch out my legs, relishing in the feel of the brown Gabardine pants sliding up my legs with the action. My feet are socked in nice warm cotton, and the short sleeved zip up white cashmere vest coupled with the blue-grey polo that Rukia gave me for my last birthday smells like and reminds me of home.

I lift up my arm so that the glass full of whiskey on the rocks presses against my lips and take a nice long sip, cringing and yet relishing the sharp bite and burn of the liquor as it slides down my throat. Well, so much for the liquor being for a night later on in the week. It seems as if my nerves just won't be able to hold up to this place. I wonder idly if there is even a liquor store nearby… I sit the glass on the side table and amble to where my briefcase sits precariously on the small table next to the kitchen doorway and rustle out my laptop and internet card, fingering the small device as I plunk back onto the couch with a long drawn out sigh.

As I wait for the computer to boot up and the internet card to start tapping into the satellite that it needs in order to give me internet I take another sip of my drink. This is my third one already for the night and I am starting to get the munchies but, unfortunately, in my annoyance at having to come out to this place I had forgotten to stop and buy groceries. Go figure. Add that to the fact that the only thing I could find in the refrigerator was some old milk and questionable meat in the freezer, as well as some age old looking cans of beef soup in the pantry… well. I'm pretty much starving. But I figure, at least for tonight, if my hunger gets too strong I will just switch to beer. That always does the trick in making me feel full.

I blandly look back to my computer screen and click on the explorer icon…. Only for the right hand corner of my screen flash and tell me that, _so sorry,_ no internet connection can be formed. For a moment I think that maybe I forgot to turn my internet card on even though I remember doing so but when I flick my gaze to the spot where the innocent piece of equipment sits I groan and flop back against the high rise backing of the sofa. _Seriously? The card can't even connect with a satellite out here? _

I reach up with my right hand to rub at my temples with a sigh. Another strike against this place. What the hell am I supposed to do when there is no internet and (what I'm sure will be) a very limited television show selection?

I shove my laptop unceremoniously off of my legs and onto the couch beside me before downing the rest of my drink in a single gulp, enjoying the warmth that spreads through my abdomen as I stand up with the intention of getting another drink. I've taken two shaky steps in the right direction when the deep ring of the doorbell resounds throughout the house, drowning out even my music. I blink slowly as I try to comprehend the idea of someone coming by for a visit in a place where I know no one before turning down the volume on the radio, place the empty glass on the little table in the hallway, and finally make it to open the door with my brows furrowed.

_Well, _my buzz fogged brain is able to humorously supply to me, _I guess he finally found some clothes. _

He looks kind of sheepish standing there in my doorway with a hand rubbing the back of his neck as if he is the uncomfortable one. Blue hair is slicked back and somewhat damp and by the smell of something spicy and masculine I can only guess that he has recently stepped out of the shower. He has traded in his bare chested state for a relatively unwrinkled and clean looking dark blue plaid shirt that hangs un-tucked from his black belted jeans that are, in my opinion, a few sizes too small by the way they hug his waist and long legs. But, hey, at least he has put some clothes on instead of running around like some sort of Neanderthal.

"Yeah?" I finally manage to ask as I lean against the door that I hold in my hands. I watch as he squints his eyes a bit, no doubt smelling the whiskey that I have consumed, before he flicks his eyes over my shoulder towards the living room and back.

"I, uh, just wanted to apologize fer earlier," he says slowly, the thickness of his accent making me lean towards him unconsciously as my mind tries to sort out the words one by one, "You hungry?" The question takes me a bit off guard and I find myself leaning back again to look up into his face instead of at his chest, my head cocking to the side.

That's when I notice he's carrying a large jar of something in his right hand, and a white plastic back in his left packed with what I assume must be food. My stomach immediately gives a grumbling purr of joy and I scrunch my nose up at it as I rub at it harshly. The damn thing, giving me away.

He must have heard it because when I look back up at him he's got a small little smile on his face and his shoulders don't seem quite as tense anymore. "It ain't much, just some chips and stuff, but the cheese dip is pretty good… a friend makes it." He offers up the back in front of me and I hesitate only briefly before caving in the face of starvation. I snatch the bag away and turn to march towards the kitchen… though it turns out not much more than a drunken wobble.

I hear the door close behind me and am unsurprised when, as I take down a bowl for the chips and start to pour, the blue haired man moves into the kitchen as well. He hovers near the door, that imposing and unavoidable presence pressing it's force against my senses as I rustle through the plastic bag and pull out a medium sized container of what I figure must be the cheese he was talking about because of its yellow color.

Instead of taking it back out into the living room I plunk down at one of the stools pulled up the island counter top and start digging in. I was right about the cheese, but he was right about it being good! Little chunks of ground meat that I guess must be beef lump together net to small slices of jalapeño peppers… not something I would have thought of doing, but it tastes great and isn't too hot on my tongue.

Silence fills the kitchen but I don't really mind, my thoughts souly on devouring as many chips as I can without choking. It's a bit undignified, I know, but I'm _hungry, _damnit. And it just tastes _so good. _It takes me a few minutes but with my damnable conscious kicking in and screeching at me to act hospitable since the other man had been nice enough to bring an apology along with the food and so as I swallow I look up, lips parted to speak.

He's staring at me.

His shoulders are hunched over as he leans his elbow on the counter top, having pulled up a stool as well without me noticing, and his chin rests in the heel of his upturned hand. More hair has fallen over his forehead in disarray as it dries, and his intense blue eyes are locked onto me even as I startle in surprise. He doesn't seem to be ashamed by the fact that he has just been caught staring at me but I shift uncomfortably in my chair.

"What are you staring at?" I ask in a clipped tone but he merely blinks and tilts his head to the side like a curious dog, the expressionless mask on his face making me feel even more fidgety. I clear my throat and play in the cheese dip with a large chip, averting my eyes down to watch as I do. "There's beer in the fridge, if you want one." I don't know why I offer it, but it must be the manners that I used to learn while growing up.

There is a grunt and a strange scraping noise and before I can fully understand what might have made the noise, the glass jar that he had been holding in his hand earlier is placed in front of me. I find myself looking down into a smoky kind of red liquid, my brows furrowing as I tip my head closer. It looks like chunks of strawberries sit at the bottom of it, but other than that I have no clue what it is. "Uh…" I slurr out unintelligently, flickering my eyes up to stare at him.

I don't know how he's moved that fast, or maybe I am just slow because I have been drinking, but he is holding a fork out to me, chin still in his hand, with an expectant air about him. He motions to the jar with the fork and I take the utensil in slight hesitation. "Try the fruit," he grumbles out to me, and I find myself following his order as docile as a lamb where normally I would bristle if someone ordered me to do _anything. _

I stick the fork into the liquid and spear a strawberry half, lifting it up and out of the jar to inspect it. It looks juicy and swollen with whatever it is that it has been soaking in and I don't think that he's trying to make me sick so I open my mouth and put the whole piece into my mouth and begin chewing.

My eyes widen almost immediately and I sit up straight on my stool, the sweetness of the strawberry heightened and defined by the other, sharper bite of _something _that burns its way on my tongue and down my throat when I finally swallow. Chill bumps dance up on my arms and I shiver and lick my lips slowly. "What _is _that?" I ask the question while fishing around for another piece of the fruit in the jar.

A dry chuckle makes me pause and I look up to see a somewhat wicked smile on the other man's face as he answers. "Well, ev'ryone round here calls it Moonshine… ya put the fruit in with the liquor and it soaks it on up… ain't really legal to sell, though."

I nod as if I understand and eat another piece of fruit, relishing in the flavor. He continues on as if he hasn't paused at all. "Kinda a specialty, ya know? Anyway… I'm Grimmjow." He offers a hand to me and it takes me a second to take it because I wasn't expecting it, but when I do his rough fingers wrap around my somewhat smaller hand and clench in a strong handshake. It's quick, and polite despite the strength behind it, but I draw my hand back and fist it against my thigh anyway.

"Ichigo," I churn out on a mumble, choosing to snack on another chip with dip instead of ingesting more of the liquor soaked fruit. Shifting on my stool I can feel the world do an interesting little spin…..

And, well. That's all I can really remember.

…..

**Hope you liked this chapter. A little bit more civil towards each other, even though Ichigo is damned and determined to NOT get along with the handsome devil Grimmjow, but we shall see how their rocky relationship continues in the next chapter!**

**THANK YOU TO ALL OF MY REVIEWERS AND TO EVERYONE WHO ADDED THIS STORY TO THEIR WATCHLIST AND THEIR FAVORITES!**


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